


Being a secretary is not easy, (but at least it's fun)

by Justice_not_Revenge



Series: Everday in the Afterlife [1]
Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Christian Tradition Lore & Folklore, Original Work, Religion & Lore - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Don't Have To Know About Supernatural (TV), Gen, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'll Be Waiting, I've played with their character, Mentions of Cancer, Not What It Looks Like, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Satire, This will be a fandom one day, i love headcannons, maybe but i dont think so, might be offensive? idk, or anything that deals with similar themes, satirism of deities, write a fanfic for the fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-12-01 22:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20920205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justice_not_Revenge/pseuds/Justice_not_Revenge
Summary: The Grim Reaper is in front of my desk with a terrified soul behind him. [...]I smile and dip my head in greeting."Hey, Heinrich. How's life?"orEvery day in the afterlife, narrated by its very own Secretary.





	Being a secretary is not easy, (but at least it's fun)

**Author's Note:**

> Souls get to experience life in our world, but what happens after that? They go to the Afterlife.
> 
> This is the story of the Secretary of the Afterlife, narrated by the Secretary of the Afterlife.
> 
> This story follows the organizer of the Afterlife, the person that made sure the Orthodox Christian didn't end up in the Hellenic Afterlife. You won't know if you like it unless you give it a try.

Hello, again.

Today is starting out, as usual, with me sitting on my desk chair. It's very comfortable. Then again, it's not in anyone's favor to keep the afterlife coordinator unhappy. 

Last time it happened I sent a soul to the wrong afterlife. 

I remember it was the 10th Century AD. Those were some exceptional years. The Muslim World, the Byzantine, and even Bulgarian Empire had reached a cultural zenith the world would remember for centuries. 

I wanted to have some resemblance of normality back then. As a result, I requested an office renovation. I hadn't inquired anything alike since the soul of Pericles had convinced me to do so, in the 9th Century BC. Frankly, my working space was getting too outdated to be fashionably classic. I would've said vintage, but that word is a few centuries too late.

All in all, the higher-ups denied my request. I didn't like that. At first, I decided to be the bigger person. There must have been a good reason for that denial. I let it go until I learned what the reason was. They were too bored to bother.

I couldn't have that, now could I? I am, after all, the Secretary and Coordinator of all afterlife. One wrong keystroke could prove to be catastrophic, and an _aesthetically displeasing office _could result in a lot of those. (I am well aware that the term _aesthetically displeasing _ was not of use in the 10th Century AD, but I couldn't help myself.)

With delicate precision, I sent a Christian soul to _B__arzakh. _Getting the poor soul where he belonged had been a pain to both Christian and Islamic Afterlife Resorts. That's the outcome of not allowing me an up-to-date working space. (And it's not just about the aesthetics, I should always have the latest technological advances if only to make my job easier.)

In the 21st Century AD, I am sitting in my 1960's renovated office with all the modern appliances a secretary of hell would need and all the decorations a secretary of heaven would like.

Ever since the Middle Ages, all souls troubled or suitable for the life of an Afterlife Agent, are questioned by two Afterlife Officials. Every five hours for one hour, I send in as many souls as I am told. (In being the Offices of the Welcomers; Saint Peter, Charon, etc.) 

Of course, I never send in people who state they wish otherwise. I cannot imagine taking a soul away from Nirvana or Valhalla or preventing someone from choosing reincarnation just yet. I presume that he/she/e would complain until he/she/e is eventually dismissed and permitted to return to his/hers/eirs version of the Afterlife Resort.

I have just finished buzzing in another batch of interviewees. They looked interesting. A few even looked _interested_. My head is shaking, those crazies always surprise me.

I'm tapping away on my laptop and phone. Occasionally I glance to my notebook or add another note in my agenda. That is until I feel someone's presence in front of me.

I look up. The Grim Reaper is in front of my desk with a terrified soul behind him. My smart office outfit, consisting of a black blazer, a whiter blouse, black dress pants, and a pair of black heels makes me look utterly dressed up next to him. His Megadeath shirt and dark blue jeans only emphasize the incredulity all souls feel when meeting him.

I smile and dip my head in greeting. 

"Hey, Heinrich. How's life?" He snorts.

"Sorry, bad pun," I admit. I glance at the soul behind him. Poor thing is visibly freaking out at my optical scan. I glimpse back to Heinrich, a question in my gaze. He nods.

"Oh, so you're one of those people who blamed everything on Satan, huh?"

I like to think that the soul would be sweating had it not just been a soul.

"Tough luck," I inform. "What's your name, doll? And by what pronouns do you go?" 

I told you that I like the '60s. Now go hide that pitchfork, you're just embarrassing yourselves. Also, yeah. We ask pronouns. Have you seen how weird souls look? Better be safe than sorry. 

Turns out that his name is Ben.

"Well, then. Ben. Let me inform you of some things. I'm also going to need you to sign here, here, and here. It's the declaration of your agreement to the enforced rights and rules, down here." 

I hand him a pen, a two-page contract, and a tablet. I gesture at the tablet. "The rights are included here. You'll find them easily. They're the only document that doesn't need you to specify your Afterlife Resort. There's also an orientation video in there if you're interested."

Heinrich is looking at me with an amused expression. I shrug. 

"So, you didn't answer. How's it going?"

"I have plans with Edmund Hekler, Theodor Koch, and Alex Seidel, but with today's school shooting, we might have to move the time. You?"

"I'm going to laugh at _Lucifer _from Netflix later today, but I'm grabbing lunch with your girlfriend."

Okay, sue me. I did that on purpose. Seeing frustrated souls lose it, at the idea of Mrs. Grim Reaper is almost as entertaining as their reaction to finding out.

Ben didn't disappoint. His eyes bulged out, and his jaw dropped comically.

I smile my signature smile. Heinrich rolls his eyes.

"About that_" It's all Satan's fault" _ behavior you have going on, Ben... Well, Satan isn't a fan of those. Satan also favors the pronounce she/her. You should know at least that before you meet her. Let me buzz you in..."

Heinrich nods and a sharp smile appears on his face. "Let's go, Benny."

I press a button on my computer and talk to the intercom. "One blamer, coming right in, Satan." I pause. I chose to mess with them a bit more. "He's with your boyfriend."

She hums in acknowledgment. I barely manage to catch a glimpse of Ben's even more fearful expression, before Heinrich hauls him through the large black double doors.

I start humming the tune of _Staying alive _and get back to scribbling notes. It does nothing to drown Ben's terrified screams. The afterlife does include hell, you know. While I'm used to it, the souls in the lounge aren't that much.

One of them starts crying. _Oh great, _I think,_ another crier. _

I press a long-time familiar number and pick up the phone. 

"Hey, Peter? Yeah, it's me." Peter's Christian angels are the best at calming criers.

"We got another crier. Could you send someone in? No, it's not that important, let the poor archangel rest. Hmm. Yeah. That's a good idea. Thanks, Peter, you're the best."

And this is just part of my day. Don't ever let anyone tell you that being a secretary is easy.

Sincerely,

the Secretary of the Afterlife.


End file.
